


Put On Your Dancing Shoes

by jinkandtherebels



Series: Western AU [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, PWP, Western AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shisui's sick of the rain and he's sick of waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put On Your Dancing Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Damn you, xii_itachi. I blame you for this.

He won’t remember the first time as well as he’d like—Itachi’s never done this before, after all; Shisui might be thinking about that if he were thinking straight, only he isn’t, not even close, and that’s kinda the point—he’s half-drunk and half-pissed at some shithead from the saloon, and he’s storming into the sheriff’s office to save the deputies the trouble of dragging him in later for a drunk and disorderly. Because he’s fucking thoughtful like that.

Itachi’s alone, and Shisui thinks that if God’s really against the whole sodomy thing then this stroke of luck is a really piss-poor way to show it. Their sheriff is behind his desk doing—paperwork, probably, it’s always paperwork—and he’s standing up all confused, most likely wondering what the hell Shisui’s doing here soaking wet.

It’s raining harder than it has in years.

Shisui doesn’t even let him get a word out before he crosses the room and shoves Itachi up against the nearest hard surface, which just happens to be the outside of the jail cell, but whatever, beggars can’t be choosers and Itachi isn’t being choosey. Not that he could be if he wanted, Shisui’s tongue being halfway down his throat and all. Itachi’s got his hands fisted in Shisui’s hair, catching on curls and tangles, and Shisui’s pressing against him hard enough to hurt against those iron bars, but Itachi isn’t complaining about that either.

He definitely isn’t complaining when Shisui pulls away and drops to his knees, sick of waiting and already sick of the rain and sick of the itch, the burning under his skin where nothing he’s done seems to get rid of it. He thinks maybe Itachi could be like water after a sandstorm, cool and cleansing down his throat. Benediction or some shit, like the preacher’s always talking about. Maybe it’s just the drink talking, whatever; it all comes down to worship in the end, seems like, but Shisui’s never been one to kneel for anyone he doesn’t want to and that’s probably why he’s going to Hell.

He’s kneeling now, yeah, but only because he wants to. He really, really wants to.

He goes for Itachi’s belt and doesn’t bother with finesse, not sure if he had any to begin with but if he did it’s gone now, ripped away with the last shreds of his self-control. He pulls the thing off with a growl of frustration, yanks Itachi’s pants down around his ankles and is swallowing his cock before Itachi has a second to blink.

He makes this choked sound instead, somewhere far above Shisui’s head, but Shisui isn’t listening anymore. He’s focused. He’s got something to focus _on_. The weight of Itachi’s cock down his throat, the taste of it on his tongue; he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose and puts one hand on Itachi’s thigh to keep steady.

He’s not sure why he feels so unsteady, all of a sudden.

Itachi groans proper when Shisui starts moving, bobbing his head like he’d seen whores do a hundred times even before he started doing it himself; it’d been easy enough to copy what he’d learned from them and then get creative with it. He sucks hard, not thinking about pacing or the possibility of this lasting past five fucking minutes—the way Itachi’s shuddering that’s not looking too likely no matter what he does, so he might as well go all out. He runs his tongue over the head, licks it slow, and Itachi’s hips jerk.

Shisui almost chokes, but he doesn’t because he’s a fucking professional. Instead he pulls off and glares up at where Itachi’s looking down at him, eyes black, mouth slack.

“You don’t get to fuck my mouth until I say you can,” he tells him. Itachi nods, actually takes the order without any smartass token protest. Shisui’s impressed. Maybe he really does have a magic mouth.

He returns to the issue at hand, sucking Itachi back down and swallowing, eliciting a moan that’s cut off too fast by the press of a fist. Even like this, the kid’s still worrying about being caught. Like anyone’s gonna be coming to the sheriff’s office in this downpour, especially when it’s the first they’ve had in weeks. People have got better shit to do than walk in on their chief lawman and the town outcast fucking around—laundry to take in, buckets to fill, what the fuck ever. They can do whatever they fucking well want, as long as they leave Shisui out of it.

If anyone does walk through that door in the next ten minutes, Shisui can’t promise he won’t shoot them.

Itachi is trembling with the effort of not moving and Shisui’s kinda stupidly proud of how well he’s holding up, especially if this is really his first time, so he takes him deeper, until the kid’s cock is nudging the back of his throat. He breathes real slow and listens to the sounds Itachi is making—short, sharp things, like they’re being punched out of him. Now there’s something Shisui could listen to for awhile, much better than the constant lectures on how breaking the law is _bad_ and how Shisui should probably stop doing that at some point, what the fuck ever. Like he said. He likes this much better.

Itachi’s hand in his hair is pulling hard, trying to get Shisui to do—something, he’s not sure what, and he’s not sure he wants to give over whatever it is just yet anyway. He has other shit to think about, such as the fact that his own cock is making a tent in his pants. He reaches down to loosen them, sighs with relief as he finally gets his hand around his dick, and figures out with some surprise that it twitches when Itachi gives his hair a hard jerk—hard enough to make his eyes water.

Huh. Now there’s some possibilities he’s gonna have to explore later, when they’ve got more time.

“Shisui,” Itachi croaks, broken sounding, and Shisui takes pity on him. He moves his hand off Itachi’s thigh and to the base of his cock, starts stroking like he’d stroke his own. Itachi is shaking but Shisui doesn’t let up, strips him rough and fast; he has no clue if that’s how Itachi likes it but he’s guessing it was a good move given how fast the kid seems to be falling apart.

It doesn’t take long after that, maybe a minute at the most. Shisui starts showing off what he can do with his tongue and Itachi jerks again, makes a badly muffled noise into his spit-slick fist and comes down Shisui’s throat.

Shisui swallows it, curls his tongue around the not-totally-unfamiliar taste, and wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand. He doesn’t last much longer. The sound Itachi makes when he pulls off is enough to send him spiraling over the edge too.

Fuck. The whores have nothing on this kid when he gets going.

Itachi’s knees apparently give out at that point because he slides to the floor with a wince. Shisui gives him a look.

“Bars,” Itachi explains, reaching around to rub at his spine. His voice sounds rough from swallowing screams; Shisui suddenly really wants to take him somewhere where they can actually be alone, with more than just a closed door between them and the rest of this piece of shit town, and fuck him until he screams good and proper.

Someday, he decides. He’ll put it on his bucket list or some shit like that, and in the meantime he’ll just let himself be smug about the blissed-out look on Itachi’s face and the fact that he was the one who put it there.

“You are going to cause me no end of trouble,” Itachi murmurs. He sounds high on moonshine and it’s enough to startle a laugh out of Shisui’s dry throat.

“No fucking shit, Sheriff. But you knew that coming in.”

“I did,” Itachi admits.

“And anyway,” Shisui continues, feeling a little cheeky, “I’m the most fun kinda trouble there is. You oughta count yourself lucky.”

“Every day,” Itachi replies, but there’s something off about it. Something—

Shisui twists to look him full in the face, but Itachi’s gone and fallen asleep like a dipshit so he can’t ask. He can’t ask why Itachi’s voice went all soft when he said that, almost like he hadn’t been saying it just to fuck around.

But that’s stupid as shit. Shisui’s just high off sex, is all. They’ll be back to normal in the morning, when the rain has soaked into the ground and left everyone high and dry again, left everything the same as it’d been before.

But not this, Shisui thinks, bizarrely satisfied. He knows what Itachi’s face looks like when he comes, knows what he sounds like, and that shit won’t just disappear when the sun comes up. That belongs to Shisui now, whether Itachi wants it to or not.

Whatever happens later, Shisui’s got that to hang onto.

He hauls himself off the floor with a wince, shuffles over to the door. He locks it and tugs on the handle a few times to make sure it holds steady.

Then he goes back and plops down next to Itachi again, close enough that their arms are touching.

He tips his head back against the bars and falls asleep right there, and he doesn’t wake up until the morning.


End file.
